


Fifty Shades of Grady

by EliseCollier



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beach Read, Clawen, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Miscommunication, Puns & Word Play, Sex Pollen, Sexual Humor, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 17:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19430377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliseCollier/pseuds/EliseCollier
Summary: Clawen on island, pre-Jurassic WorldAU. The paleobotanists have recreated a prehistoric plant that uses pheromones for communication, resulting in unintended consequences for Claire and Owen. Will the chemical infusion bring them closer together or push them apart? Equal parts steamy and funny.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been kicking around this title for a long time, waiting for the right inspiration and story to accompany it. A tweet from Zivitz a few weeks ago (and encouragement from akaJB) did the trick. I hope readers enjoy this one. It’s not completely angst-free, but it _is_ a ton of fun!

Dusk was Owen's favorite time of day to run the perimeter of the lake that bordered his property. He loved jogging on the soft sand and not having to worry about an audience - human or dinosaur - at his remote location on the restricted side of the island. The pink hues in the sky further relaxed him. This evening, there was just enough light, and it wasn't too warm. The conditions were perfect. He had, however, decided to run only in his board shorts, just in case he wanted to take a dip in the water afterwards.

Just as he was rounding the far end of the lake to head back toward his bungalow, he was startled by a rustle of leaves in the jungle. Turning his head, he caught a brief glimpse of a familiar shock of red hair retreating into the tree line. Could it be? What was she doing out here? He stopped running and looked around. There was stillness and quiet once again. His head snapped at the sound of more rustling from the trees beyond his view. Was that really her? Curiosity drove him into the jungle.

Walking carefully in his bare feet, Owen stepped over tree roots and fallen branches, listening for any hint of another person in his midst. As he continued moving forward, he barely paid attention to the darkness enveloping him. His focus was on his "prey." The vines around him started to get denser, and he didn't recognize their origins. Something wasn't quite right. Before he could pull back, he found himself getting tangled. The vines began to tighten around his body, gradually pinning him against an adjacent tree. Owen gasped as he felt his shorts being pulled and ripped.

His heart raced while he struggled to break free. As he was about to call out for help, strange flower buds popped up along the length of the vines. Startling him further, the buds opened around his face and gave off a tantalizing aroma. He felt himself relaxing despite being immobile. Closing his eyes, he was being lulled into a blissful state. It also caused his ears to be more attuned with the environment. He could now hear something stepping along the jungle floor, twigs snapping in the wake of footfalls. It was clearly a biped and didn't seem like a threat, so he waited it out.

Moments later, he felt body heat radiating in front of him and warm breath on his neck. The breath was replaced by soft lips leaving delicate kisses. He audibly sighed before opening his eyes. Looking down, he saw that familiar head of red hair. Only, the hair was longer, draped over her body and making it difficult to tell if she was wearing any clothing.

"Claire," he said contentedly. "Are you here to rescue me?" Owen realized he must be dreaming but was in absolutely no rush to wake up. This was, quite possibly, the best dream of his life. She stood straighter and took a step back. He practically whimpered at the loss of her touch. Taking her in, she looked like a woodland nymph from fairy tales or mythology. No, it was more than that. He recalled his crush on Poison Ivy from the old _Batman_ animated series. His adolescent hormones were surging again. He hoped she was truly naked and would give him a better view.

Shrugging, Claire replied breathily, "I don't have any tools to cut you down." Then, she giggled and started running her hands from his shoulders to his chest. He shuddered at her touch and felt himself getting aroused. "So strong," she commented in a sultry tone while biting her lip. " _Shame_ you can't free yourself."

"W-w-why?" he stuttered embarrassingly. A sudden fear of her abandoning him in the jungle crossed his mind.

"Because I want your hands on me." She giggled once more then continued running her fingers down to his hips, where his shorts strained against both the vines and his growing erection. Licking her lips, she locked gazes with him. "Can I help you with that? You look _very_ uncomfortable."

"Yes," he panted. It was a desperate plea. Her resultant laugh seemed to echo against the trees. She practically cackled in her apparent delight.

Bringing her hands back up to his shoulders, she cooed, "Patience." Then, she leaned forward to run her tongue around the shell of his ear. "You like that?" It was a soft whisper and required no verbal response. His body nearly convulsed as he shivered in pleasure. He couldn't speak anyway. What with her rubbing the length of her body against his at the same time. Yep. She was _definitely_ naked. Pretty soon, he was moaning. Very loudly. It surprised him to enjoy her treatment while being bound, but he supposed dreams were different. She wasn't letting up either. His sounds were swiftly muffled by her lips on his. Her tongue in his mouth. Nothing ever tasted so good. He wanted to have this kiss forever.

His mind fogging and losing himself in the sensations, he didn't immediately realize what she was doing with her hands. She somehow managed to completely rip off his shorts. There was nowhere to go. No room to jump or squirm once she put both of her hands on his throbbing cock. His body positioning was so constricted that he almost _was_ uncomfortable. Almost. She worked him up masterfully, and his only regret was that he couldn't fondle her in kind. As he continued fighting to free himself, he grimaced in frustration, and she abruptly pulled fully away from him.

"No!" he cried out. Clicking her tongue, she batted her eyelashes seductively. "Please, don't stop." He was begging. "Do whatever you want to me."

"But what about me?" Claire pouted in an exaggerated fashion then ran her hand down her own abdomen to start pleasuring herself. As she worked herself up, her excited moans and little spasms nearly drove Owen over the edge. She eventually fell forward against him, catching herself with a sweaty palm spread over his chest. He was breathing hard and almost choked at her weight on him.

"Use me," he demanded through gritted teeth. When she lifted her head to look up at him, a devilish grin split her face. She raised one leg and notched her foot on a taut vine at his side. In the next instant, her mouth returned to his with a ferocity heretofore never experienced, as if plundering him hungrily. His breath caught in his throat when he felt both her hands on his cock again, guiding him to her center, then rubbing the plump head over her most sensitive area. They shuddered violently together, and it felt like touching heaven. The vines started to give, and he let out a guttural groan in anticipation of finally being able to wrap around her and sink in deeply. He would ravish her.

The vines creaked and snapped as he yanked his arms free. In the moment he reached for her, his body was thrown forward, and he felt as if he was flipping over. Opening his eyes, he found himself on the ground below his hammock, which was still swaying from his tumble out. "Dammit!" he shouted while thumping his fists on the grass. His heart seemed to be trying to beat out of his chest. His shirt was soaked in sweat. And, looking down at his shorts, he realized that he'd had an actual wet dream for the first time in years.

Sitting up, he worked to control his breathing and regain his senses. There was a stiff breeze blowing from the other side of the lake keeping his hammock rocking. He still felt woozy, but the dream replayed mercilessly in his head. He honestly didn't mind, as he didn't want to forget it. It was the most vivid and real dream he'd ever had. Just thinking about Claire naked before him was getting him hard. He needed to get inside the bungalow... fast.

x x x

Spending the afternoon reviewing paleobotany reports was _not_ Claire's idea of a good time. The hours were especially dragging on this particular day. She sighed as she read through the latest document. Similar to the park's reptilian assets, there was ongoing research and development of prehistoric flora to adorn paddocks and public areas. The paleobotanists also updated her on new developments with the current plants in the park.

She was still recovering from the fallout - scandal, really - from the last genetically-modified prehistoric plant that had been introduced in the botanical gardens. A few bold employees had discovered its psychoactive properties and were cultivating their own grow-op at the Jurassic Village housing complex. Claire felt fortunate that the plant hadn't been used in the resort areas where families, especially children, would've more heavily trafficked.

It was often overwhelming trying to juggle the safety of both assets and guests. Claire was constantly wearing different hats in her operations management role. The park had always tried to be cutting-edge and accurate. She knew all too well, however, that _accuracy_ wasn't strictly synonymous with entertainment. Some of the ferns initially selected for public areas looked good but turned out to be aggressive. They'd learned the hard way that you couldn't just choose plants for appearance, as you would a picture for the wall.

The current head of paleobotany, if a little socially inept, had a healthy respect for the genetic power being wielded in the park. He'd emphasized to his staff that plants had evolved as competitively as animals, developing various means of surviving in the world. All new plants were now rigorously tested on the restricted area of the island by a select few botanists. Their current project came from the family Solanacea or nightshades. The latest report made it clear that this was not the famously poisonous "deadly nightshade" but rather something akin to a tomatillo or groundcherry. Whatever those were. The research team was excited by the possibility of using its fruit in salads or jams. Claire cringed at the thought. They'd never developed prehistoric plants for human consumption. It may have been the next logical step for R&D, but it made her nervous. Who, exactly, would be the test subjects for the safety of the fruit?

Before her mind could spin off into multiple directions, a calendar reminder popped onto the screen of her phone. Her face brightened with sudden excitement as she suppressed a squeal. She needed to get ahold of herself. This behavior was so unlike her. Despite this being her first one in a long time, it was just a date. Well, not just _any_ date. That was clear to both herself and Zara, who had teasingly chastised her boss for planning to leave the office early to get ready.

The paleobotany report on her computer screen completely forgotten, she rushed to open the document containing the itinerary she'd put together and send it to her printer. She'd been looking forward to this night all week. No, much longer than that. Her expectations were in serious danger of being too high, but she wouldn't get ahead of herself. Her first goal for tonight would simply be to relax and escape from the binds of her work.

x x x

Walking down Main Street, Claire's nerves were threatening to get the best of her. She clung to the itinerary in her right hand for dear life. What had gotten into her? His text, that's what. Owen had sent her a last minute message asking to meet outside Margaritaville rather than their previously discussed plan for Winston's. When she finally caught sight of him between groups of guests, she nearly stopped dead in her tracks. Board shorts, really? At least he had the decency to pair them with a linen button-up shirt and slip-on loafers.

As she approached him, she hoped that her disappointment wasn't obvious on her face. Judging by his huge smile when he saw her, he was either clueless or didn't care. She wasn't sure which was worse. He jogged the short distance separating them before wrapping his arms around her - placing one hand on her ass - and kissing her cheek. It was possible he was aiming for her lips but she was quick enough to dodge it, if so. He was moving pretty fast for a first date, and she didn't know how to interpret that. One thing was certain, their first kiss was _not_ going to be in broad daylight on Main Street.

Still holding her tightly, he pulled back just enough to ask, "You ready?"

She managed a weak, "Uh-huh," in response. They'd never been this close before. She enjoyed the feeling of being in his arms, even his seemingly Neanderthal possession, more than she wanted to admit. It was frankly thrilling when he tensed his fingers on the fabric of her skirt. As his eyes bore into hers intensely, she thought he might try to kiss her again. She might not have the wherewithal to dodge it this time. Instead, he flashed her a goofy grin and shifted his focus to the folded paper in her hand.

"What's this?" asked Owen, forcefully prying it out of her fingers. He stepped back to read it, as surprise and disappointment crossed _his_ face. Claire definitely caught it and _definitely_ took offense. "An itinerary?"

"Yeah, well," she mumbled, "I'm an org-"

"You forgot 'wild jungle sex,'" he offered, matter-of-fact and pointing at the paper. His words stunned her. She had absolutely no comeback. She didn't know him well enough to tell if this was a joke. Searching his face, she found no answer. When she opened her mouth to say (something… anything), he was already moving to toss the paper into an adjacent trash can. Turning back to face her, he said in a sultry tone, "We won't need that." He put his arm around her waist and led them into Margaritaville. Claire remained silent, focusing on her predetermined priorities: relax and escape. Thinking about letting go and actually doing it _were_ different things, but she needed to try.

Immediately upon entering the restaurant, the hostess led them to a secluded banquette in the back. The petite blonde was making eyes at Owen all the while, but he barely paid her any attention. His focus was on Claire, who might've been off-put by his attentions - roving hands and piercing looks - if not overruled by her feeling smug. She smiled sweetly at the hostess but stopped short of shooing her off.

Once settled into the cozy booth, Owen rested one hand on Claire's thigh as they both looked over their menus. Again, she warred with herself. She _really_ didn't want to remove his warm hand but also didn't appreciate all the liberties he was taking with her. If she didn't set boundaries now, what might he try to get away with later? At that thought, she crossed her legs, effectively pulling away from his reach.

When the waiter came to take their drink orders, Owen stepped up, "Four shots of your finest tequila with all the trimmings," then winked in Claire's direction. At her grimace, Owen asked innocently, "What?"

"Tequila," she said flatly, "is not part of my diet."

"What do you mean? It's 100% agave. That's gluten-free." He went back to perusing the menu, and she felt his fingers searching for her thigh again under the table. She just stared at him with a quizzical expression. What the hell was going on? She'd never said she was gluten-intolerant. She just didn't like hard liquor. It made her sick... and stupid. But, she decided she could compromise.

"Fine," Claire relented with a sigh. "I will do one shot."

"That's my girl," he replied with a kiss on her cheek and a pat of his hand over her skirt. She bit her tongue. This night might tax all of her mental faculties. Maybe tequila _would_ prove to be helpful.

As dinner progressed, the conversation was minimal. Owen seemed content eating (quite a lot, actually), shooting her lustful glances, and finding ways to touch her. Perhaps that was all his brain could handle. Adding words to the equation could've been overload. She really didn't like generalizing about good-looking men or being reductionist in her thinking about them, but she went into the date believing he would be different. At least the words that did manage to slip out of his mouth were complimentary. He, thankfully, appreciated the effort _she_ put into her appearance.

If she had any doubts about where he wanted this night to end up, they were soundly resolved when the waiter was clearing their entree plates.

"Do you want to see the dessert menu?" the young man in the Hawaiian shirt asked.

"Nah," Owen answered quickly, "I've got other plans for dessert." He followed this with another wink in Claire's direction. It was hard not to give him credit for his confidence. She could admire that in another. There was also a complete absence of fiendishness in his tone of voice and body language. He didn't act like he was sleazy or 'on the prowl..' If anything, his behaviors came across adorable and boyish. Though not what she expected, she was willing to play along… for now.

His arm was back around her waist as soon as they stood up from their table. When they stepped outside the restaurant, he guided them to an alleyway between buildings. Once they were separated from the crowd on Main Street, he pulled her into a kiss. Her body responded to his immediately, to an almost embarrassing degree. The rush of heat was intense. She was initially distracted by the feel of him pressed against her but then keyed into the kiss itself. It transported her back to high school, and not in a good way. He was kissing her like a teenage boy: over-eager and with far too much tongue.

"Let's go back to your place," he declared after abruptly pulling away. Swaying on her feet as if whiplashed, Claire merely nodded her consent.

Upon entering her apartment, Owen immediately removed his shirt, a few buttons popping off and scattering in his haste. His mouth was back to hers and just as sloppily as before, but his hands were bolder than they had been out in public. Her breath hitched as his fingers crept underneath her blouse. She struggled to come up with a way to try to slow him down. She _was_ flattered, after all.

His lips moved to her neck while he fumbled with the zipper on her back. She cringed at the sudden sound of fabric ripping. He froze in place for a moment then changed tactics. To prevent further damage, she assisted him in lifting her blouse over her head. As soon as it was off, he pressed her against the refrigerator. She hissed at the cold surface on her back, and he, thankfully, shifted their bodies toward the kitchen island. Her elation was short-lived, however. When he lifted her onto the island's countertop, her head knocked into the light fixture hanging above it. He had the decency to apologize before sliding her body toward one end of the island.

Although the scene was pretty hot - especially _Owen's_ body - he was so clumsy and unfocused that Claire began to wonder if he had ADHD and his meds had worn off. Her breasts strained against her bra with his attention to her cleavage. If only he wouldn't keep pulling his lips away to deliver bad lines, like "I'm going to rock your world" and "I am the hunter tonight." She would've used her hands to hold his head in place if not for needing her arms to prop up her body.

She considered just laying back and allowing him to "get the party started downstairs." (Oh God, his crappy lines were rubbing off on her.) It was clearly on his mind, too, as the next words out of his mouth were, "I'm going to make the cat purr. You'll be begging." She groaned aloud. That was not sexy to her at all. As if sensing her mood shift, he lifted her off the island and put her feet back on the floor.

Looking at her seriously, he instructed, "Take off my board shorts." Claire finally reached her limit. This was too fast and getting too far outside her comfort zone.

She placed her palms on his bare chest and asked nicely, "Can we slow it down just a bit?"

He moved her hands to his waistband and said in a reassuring tone, "This is on _my_ itinerary, and I _know_ you'll like what you find." A wave of anger suddenly crashed over her, and she fully pulled away from him, taking a few steps backward.

"You don't know me," she protested. "We barely talked at dinner!"

He let out a low whine and closed the gap between them. "Relinquish some control, Claire. Just go with it." His hands reached for her hips as he added, "This will be more comfortable in the bedroom." Fearing he was about to pick her up, she quickly moved to the opposite side of the island. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Owen chortled, "There's nowhere to go, Claire."

When he rushed towards her, she put up her hands and shouted, "No! Stop!" Her words seemed to sober him. Her palms were back on his chest, but her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. She couldn't look at him. "You need to go," she said solemnly. He made a disappointed noise, but she ignored it. Finally opening her eyes, she looked at him with a mixture of rage and sadness. His shoulders sagged. His eyes seemed glassy and unreadable. She had no way to interpret what was happening. Ultimately, her anger trumped all. She silently moved towards her front door, opened it, and shoved him into the hallway.

After slamming the door shut, Claire slumped down with her back to the door. Despite her discomfort with his behaviors, a battle still raged in her heart. It _had_ felt really good to be wanted like that. To be desired so strongly. While she felt that she'd reached a breaking point with his execution of those desires, part of her had almost let him stay. The information she knew about him before this night had never led her to believe that he was like this. Was this the _real_ Owen? Since when had she gotten so bad at reading people? Maybe she'd just been blinded by her own lust and loneliness.

Fully seated on the floor of her kitchen, she spied a button and wondered where his shirt had landed. It didn't really matter at the moment. She could toss it into Mt. Sibo later. All she wanted to do now was shower off and climb into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m dying to hear your thoughts on this story so far, and would _you_ have kicked Owen out? I can’t wait to share the rest!


	2. Chapter 2

Owen practically fell onto the floor when he rolled over on Barry's couch to avoid the sunlight streaming through the window. His head felt like it had been through a meat grinder. This was more than a hangover, and he hadn't even had that much to drink! The events of the night before were starting to take shape in his mind's eye, and he was starting to feel physically ill. Had he really been so forward with Claire? All action and no talk? He was frankly surprised that she had put up with it for as long as she did. He winced at the memory of standing outside her door, shirtless, and considering whether to beat it down.

Somehow, he'd mustered the good sense to drag his sorry ass to Barry's place instead. What exactly had gotten into him? A cold shower and a good night's sleep should've helped. Unfortunately, he just felt more unsettled and profoundly sheepish. There was no denying his continued attraction to Claire, but he had probably blown any chance with her after his antics on that date. Could he even call it that? He'd behaved as if it was only a pretense to fucking. His physical discomfort intensified. Could he convince her that he hadn't been himself? Would she give him another chance? Could he even _trust_ himself in her presence? After all, the cause of his personality change had yet to be determined. He didn't dare risk seeing her again without sorting that out first.

Trying to wrap his head around the possibilities, Owen wondered if the tequila had been spiked. Ironically, that could explain Claire's _tolerance_ of him. It was further deflating to think that any interest on her part might've been chemical in nature. Lost in his thoughts, he was startled by Barry entering the living room and carrying two mugs.

"Here," his friend proffered as Owen rubbed his temples, "this should help. An old family recipe for curing a hangover."

"I can't drink _that_!" Owen exclaimed with one hand pushing back against the mug. "I was drugged or something last night. It might not mix well."

"I think you're a bit paranoid. This is just black coffee with an egg and cayenne in it." Setting the mugs on the coffee table, Barry sat down in a chair and asked, "You sure you weren't just nervous and came on too strong? I know how much you were looking for-"

"No," Owen interrupted him. "I wasn't acting like myself _at all_." At this, Barry snorted and raised a single eyebrow in disbelief. Owen groaned, "I was acting like I had no filter. Like… the brakes were off."

"Did you start with tequila shots?" Barry's tone was almost patronizing.

"Dammit, this is serious!"

" _D'accord_ ," the Frenchman raised his palms in defeat then sat back. A sudden realization seemed to dawn on him, and Owen motioned for him to spit it out. "I _did_ hear a rumor about something. But…"

"But what?" Owen said with desperation in his tone.

"Maybe your charms just didn't work on her, and you're trying to justify her kicking you out."

"Fuck you." His friend started laughing very heartily. Too heartily for Owen's tastes. "You are having way too much fun at my expense."

" _Non, mon ami._ You might deserve it!" Owen huffed but bit his tongue. Maybe Barry was right. Sensing Owen's internal conflict, Barry offered, "There's a rumor going around that a new plant being developed on the island is an aphrodisiac." Owen's eyebrows went up. This could be a plausible excuse. An explanation for his behavior and, disappointingly, Claire's. As he sat there, thinking through his next steps, Barry continued, "Guys have been joking about 'Love Potion #9' and using it on women on the island."

"Where is this plant being grown?" asked Owen with intense curiosity.

"All plants are tested in the restricted area to limit access. There's been talk of 'covert operations' to obtain a supply." Rolling his eyes, Barry passed Owen the mug of coffee. "Here, you need this regardless. I know you won't rest until you get to the bottom of it."

"Thanks," Owen responded honestly. No one knew him as well as Barry. He could also count on his co-worker's support. A plan was formulating in Owen's head. More details were needed. Perhaps there was an antidote. He also feared there could be long-term effects. Damn botanists. People never learn.

x x x

It had been a busy week in the park, but Claire was grateful for the distraction. She didn't want to catch herself thinking about her date-gone-horribly-awry with Owen. Truth be told, she was still processing all that had transpired, reflecting on both his behavior and her own. She second-guessed everything she'd done that night. With some sadness, she wondered if she should've canceled when he changed the plan from Winston's. Had she created this whole mess herself?

Shaking off the thoughts, she reminded herself that she was possibly making a mountain out of a molehill. It was just one date. She should be sharing the story as a funny anecdote and laughing about it with her girlfriends. Too bad she didn't really have any of those. Of course, this was another excuse. Zara had been very curious about what happened the following day. While Claire had chosen to remain quiet and simply change the subject, her assistant must've known something was wrong. It was only a matter of time before it came up again.

Claire sighed and turned her head toward the beautiful flowering plant on her desk. The head paleobotanist had brought it to her as a present that morning. He'd been positively giddy about how well it was thriving. The plant was still in the flowering phase, but he expected the fruit to develop very soon. Claire marveled at it. There was something enticing about it that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She felt strangely drawn to it. So far, she'd resisted sniffing the flowers, having been told already by the botanist that they didn't have a scent.

Her reverie was broken by an unfamiliar knock on her door. Glancing quickly at the calendar on her computer desktop, she didn't see any scheduled appointments. Zara must've stepped away from her desk and not been able to run interference for unexpected visitors.

Claire took a deep breath and cleared her throat before relenting, "Come in."

The door was immediately opened and shut behind her uncharacteristically hesitant guest, Owen Grady. She reflexively crossed her arms over her chest and sat up straighter in her chair. When she noticed him tensing at her actions, she relaxed her posture. She hadn't meant to make this more awkward than it already was. He moved slowly towards her desk with his head hung low. His demeanor was even less attractive than his aggressive one from their date. She hoped he didn't behave this way with all women but then felt uneasy with the idea that this was a specific effect _she_ had on him.

As she resisted the urge to scrunch her nose in displeasure, Owen finally made solid eye contact with her. His look was pleading. She offered a small smile and witnessed him relaxing. His face even lightened with a smile of his own. This caused some recently buried feelings of hers to re-emerge. Damn him! Why couldn't she just hate him?

She caught herself wringing her hands and blurted, "What brings you here, Mr. Grady?" He looked blind-sided, and she instantly regretted her words. "Owen," she corrected quickly.

He held her gaze as he announced, "I'm sorry about the other night. That wasn't me." Claire couldn't fully suppress the scoff that came out unbidden. His lips formed a tight line as he appeared to be considering his next words carefully. "Let me prove it," he said forcefully. "I want a second date... a do-over." She was taken aback. Words escaped her as they had on their first date. Did _she_ want a second date? There was not a straightforward answer to that question.

"Owen, I…" Her words trailed off at his eyes shifting away from hers. Now, he was staring at the plant on her desk. His confidence seemed shaken once again, and there was something else in his eyes. Was that fear? Horror? Whatever it was, she knew it wasn't good.

"What is that?" he asked pointedly while taking a step backward.

She answered in a quizzical tone, "A new plant we've… made." When he still wouldn't return his gaze to hers, she added, "A nightshade, for its fruit."

His head snapped up as he exclaimed, " _That_ doesn't have any fruit." He was moving backwards again, and Claire was starting to get alarmed. She stood but didn't have time to say anything before his hand was fumbling with her doorknob. "I'll call you," Owen said weakly as he disappeared out the door, slamming it shut.

"What the fuck?" escaped her lips once she was alone again. She was frustrated that new data from the man himself wasn't helping her solve the ongoing mystery that was Owen Grady. She somehow doubted this was intentional on his part. His behavior today did _not_ make him alluring. Catching the time on her computer screen, she decided to table her thoughts on him until later. Instead, she hazarded a whiff of the flowers on her desk. Her face fell. Just as she was told, no scent.

x x x

For whatever reason, Claire felt compelled to bring home her plant. Her excuse was needing to water it. The truth was, however, that it made her irrationally sad to think of it all alone in her office overnight. Something so beautiful deserved company. Oh boy, was she actually relating to a _plant_ now? Or was it becoming her 'emotional support plant'? Her internal uneasiness translated into physical clumsiness as she stumbled slightly upon crossing the threshold of her apartment. The pot had been balanced in the crook of her arm but became jostled, and she almost dropped it. Fumbling with the pot, she ended up with a face full of flowers as she tried to readjust her grip.

After she placed the pot on her kitchen counter, Claire's nose began to itch. She squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath, successfully managing to contain the sneeze that threatened to escape. Then, her face contorted into a frown at the thought of being allergic to the pretty flowers. That worry was, fortunately, short-lived. Looking around her kitchen, her mind suddenly drifted back to images of Owen shirtless in that very room. A lovely warmth spread throughout her body. Her eyes fluttered closed as she pondered the what ifs, had she _not_ forced him out.

Suddenly, her nose pricked up at the scent of something foreign yet tantalizing. She opened her eyes and walked over to the easy chair in her living room. Searching around, Claire found Owen's shirt wedged between the chair and the wall behind it. Just as she had been compelled to sniff her flowers, she brought the shirt to her nose. This instantly relaxed her, and she sank into the chair.

Maybe she _was_ overthinking their date. She considered that maybe all she really needed was to get laid. Perhaps that was the real reason she hadn't kicked him to the curb sooner. It was a relief to imagine that neither she nor Owen were meant to be in a relationship. Their interest in one another might be much more… primitive in nature. Yes, she _should_ seriously consider his do-over offer, if nothing but a means to a mutual 'happy ending.'

x x x

Following his extensive (as possible) data collection about the new nightshade, Owen had decided that his property wasn't currently a safe area for him to be. The plant was producing too much pollen at this stage. The air around his bungalow was likely teeming with it. After waiting for the wind to change directions, he'd quickly retrieved some clothing and necessities from his place then immediately taken a shower and washed the clothes at Barry's, where he was currently staying. On the couch. Again. Dealing with unresolved thoughts and emotions about Claire Dearing. Again. His interaction with her earlier that day had not gone as planned, and he couldn't sleep.

Owen desperately wanted another chance to prove that he was a good guy, not a nymphomaniac who didn't know how to respect a woman. He'd taken what he felt was an appropriate amount of time to let her anger cool and the effects of the pollen to wear off before he'd shown up at her office. Seeing the plant on Claire's desk was completely unexpected. Was a botanist trying to woo her? Or worse, take advantage of her? He shuddered at the thought of her falling into another man's arms due to that damn plant.

To prevent his mind from falling down a rabbit hole of worry, he took out his phone to scroll through the latest sports scores. As if on cue, he received a text message from Claire, **I found your shirt.** Owen hesitated to respond, not sure where his quick exit from her office left them. She hadn't actually accepted his offer of a second date. And, why _would_ she after he hightailed it out of there? He was mortified and wondered if he'd ever to be able to face her again.

Her follow-up message broke him out of his anxious thoughts, **Do you want it back?**

He hated not being able to discuss this in person or over the phone - texting was very limited in terms of effective communication - but he decided to be flirty and wrote, **Are you offering to bring it over?**

Her next message elicited a loud gasp from Owen. He also dropped the phone onto his face. Picking it up, his eyes blinked rapidly in disbelief. It was a selfie of her in bed, wearing his shirt, with the comment, **Come over here and take it off me**. The photo was just short of pornographic - her creamy white skin and the curve of one of her breasts clearly visible - due to a few missing buttons. He groaned at the remembrance of the hurried removal of his shirt at her apartment. His behavior that night had included so many terrible cliches. Refocusing on the picture, however, Owen felt very hot and bothered while at the same time questioning whether this was for real or if Claire was simply under the spell of the pollen. After all, she'd been in the presence of the plant in her office for God knows how long, and his shirt would've been coated in its pollen, too.

Still ruminating on an acceptable response, Owen received another photo from her. This time, one of her hands was opening the remaining buttons on the shirt. An erect nipple seemed to be taunting him through the thin, light-colored fabric. The accompanying text read, **Don't make me do this all by myself**. His mouth went dry, and he felt paralyzed. A third picture appeared on his screen, the buttons completely undone and her hand the only thing holding the shirt together, with the statement, **I'll leave the opening to you.** The lushness of her breast and the pink color of her nipple were now displayed through the fabric of his shirt being pulled taut against her.

Although he was seriously turned on by the escalating series of photos, he took them as confirmation that Claire was under the influence of the pollen. It was possible that she even took the potted plant home. If so, going to her apartment wouldn't be a safe area for them to talk about the plant… would it be safe, regardless? He _did_ need to talk to her about this, but could he honestly fend her off in this state?

His lust abruptly transitioned to sadness at the realization that he couldn't interpret her sentiments as genuine. To add insult to injury, he felt guilty about seemingly using 'Love Potion #9' on her. Biting his tongue in frustration, he switched off his phone. He wouldn't sleep well tonight, regardless, but staring at her photos any longer wouldn't improve things for him. He refused to take advantage of her, even if she lacked awareness of this choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don't feel too teased by this "cliffhanger." I promise fun times ahead 🤐 Please leave a comment and let me know how you think this story is evolving.
> 
> Endless thanks to my beta and friend, akaJB, who's posting awesome stories of her own + co-writing _The Missing Years_ with me.


	3. Chapter 3

His duties at the raptor paddock kept Owen busy the morning after Claire's sexting, but he did look at the photos a few times during the day… he was a guy, after all. She hadn't sent anything after the third picture, and he never responded to them. What was he supposed to say? He winced at the thought of her sending similar messages to someone else. Someone who wouldn't have refused her. He didn't like the places his mind took him from there. Maybe he should've gone over to her place, to ensure that she hadn't done anything stupid. Like sleep with someone other than him. He had an irrational urge to break things all over the paddock.

As he was about to head over to Barry's at the end of his shift, he received a text alert. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of Claire's name on his screen again. The message was brief: **I'm coming over to your bungalow.** He practically seized with fear. Aside from worrying about the pollen level on his property, Owen wondered if Claire had found out about the plant. Was she angry with him? Did she think he planted his shirt at her apartment? Or maybe he had it backwards. Perhaps she wanted to apologize for her earlier texts.

Searching for a middle ground, he typed, **Let's meet at the raptor paddock.**

**Too late,** was the quick reply. **I'm parked beside your trailer.**

"Shit!" Owen said aloud, drawing questioning glances from the handful of staff members within earshot. He decided that he needed to drive over to her as soon as possible, to limit their pollen exposure. He'd have to figure out how to abscond with her quickly. There wasn't time to sort it all out. He hoped a plan would form as he hopped on his motorcycle.

It was only a five minute ride to his place, but she could do a lot in that timeframe. A lot of things that got him excited to consider. No, he needed to redirect his thoughts. He had to focus on _not_ having sex… for now, at least. If he couldn't get her off his property, they'd likely both become "afflicted." He had trouble deciding if that would really be a bad thing. _Fuck_. He might already be driving through a cloud of pollen. This did not bode well for him.

By the time he cut the engine and began stalking towards her with purpose in his step, Claire was standing on his deck and beckoning him with a crooked finger.

"I need you to come… take a look at something," she said in a sultry tone. She was wearing his shirt on top of a short red dress. Her smiling down at him like the cat that got the cream stopped him dead in his tracks. She clearly wasn't there to yell at him or apologize. On top of that realization, _he_ was already starting to feel different, more relaxed and a tad woozy. When he didn't answer her, she added, "I want to consult with you."

"Not here," he finally sputtered. "Let's talk somewhere else." Against his better judgment, he found himself stepping closer to her. She responded by climbing down the steps and putting her hands on his shoulders. He took a stuttering breath at the simple touch. His mind amplified it to something thoroughly arousing.

"C'mon," she pleaded, "Your place is so romantic." Her gaze traveled his lot, so he followed suit. Under the spell of the plant, there seemed to be glossy sheen on his property. This halo effect helped to ground him. It was unnatural, and he needed to get them out of there fast. In that moment, however, her hands started to slide over his shoulders, massaging his deltoids through his shirt.

Moving one hand off him to point out the scuba tanks at the far end of the bungalow, she commented, "You must stay toned via water sports." Her head then nodded in the direction of the table he'd fashioned from a surfboard. "Surfing and scuba diving are _so_ sexy."

"You know," he answered quickly, his voice rough, "I can hold my breath for over a minute." He waggled his eyebrows at her while internally wincing. Did those words _really_ just come out of his mouth? He needed to focus… on what? His memory failed him.

"Oh, baby," she murmured, "I have secret skills, too." Both of her hands were back on his shoulders and very slowly moving down his arms. His eyes darted to her captivating tongue that was running just as slowly over her upper lip. When her hands reached the bare skin of his forearms, he felt like an electrical current shot through her fingertips. It triggered a surge of adrenaline, one that was stronger than anything he experienced during military operations. The surge burned right through him. It pulsed through his entire body and made his over-eager dick stand up and salute.

Suddenly, his mouth was on hers. His tongue slid past her parted lips. It was not some easy, breezy kiss. It was a dark and demanding, I-want-to-consume-you, kind of kiss. Instead of pushing him away, Claire kissed him back in the same way. With wild abandon and primitive, fierce desire that made him ache. Teeth clashed as they fought for dominance. His breath was heaving in and out. Owen almost wobbled on his feet as she arched into him. Battling back, he pinned her against the bannister of the bungalow's steps.

The intensity of feeling almost made him pull away to get his bearings. Was this how it had felt on the night of their date? He didn't remember it being like this. With one kiss, had he gone molten? His rational brain strained to comprehend the situation. He hadn't even known that lust could hit this brutally hard and fast. Was the heat between them now simply because they were both afflicted by the plant? They were getting swept away in a firestorm of need... and yet, it felt like there was something more behind the passion.

Her rough movements pulled his thoughts back to the physical sensations. Their lips slammed together as her nails dug into his arms. It was sloppy and messy but felt oh-so-very-good. He didn't know how long his control was going to last. His emotions and desires were about to swamp him. She gave a little moan in the back of her throat—so erotic, his dick seemingly tripled in size.

"Oh, sweetheart," he growled. The unexpected outburst helped rein himself in ever so slightly. He wasn't growly with women, and he _never_ used antiquated terms of endearment. His pause should've offered him the opportunity to move them back toward their vehicles, but Claire was undeterred.

She pulled him by the shirt and declared, "Let's get this party started!"

"Started?" he stammered as she dragged him up the stairs towards the bungalow door. Unbeknownst to him, she'd brought a bag and picked it up off the deck with her free hand. His cock jerked at the sight of it. Who was he kidding? His little head was leading his big one. He was making no real effort to stop the progression of the evening.

"Tonight, we're following _my_ itinerary." She grinned broadly and pulled him back down to her for a (too) brief kiss. When they broke apart, her eyes revealed the swirling emotions still strongly affecting them both. Emotions too strong to fight in the dreamy fog. Instead, he staggered inside behind her.

"What're you doing?" Owen asked as she unpacked the contents of her bag onto his nightstand. His gaze kept darting to the bed. Why wasn't _that_ next on her itinerary? Blinking rapidly, he realized that she was setting up a tequila shot, complete with pre-cut lime wedges and a salt shaker. Color him impressed by her organizational skills.

When he set his eyes on her face, she was smirking. She raised a single eyebrow and stated plainly, "The clothes need to go."

"You first," he teased back, crossing his arms over his chest and licking his lips. Her eyes slitted but never left his as she shrugged off his shirt. His shirt. _That's right!_ He needed to get them out of there. Unfortunately, the moment of clarity vanished as quickly as it appeared. Claire unzipped her dress, and it fell to the floor with a soft slither of sound. When she stood before him in lacy black lingerie, he knew he was a goner.

He reached a hand out to touch her bra, but she slapped him away playfully and preened, "Your turn… just let me do it." A bit of drool trickled out of his mouth as his jaw dropped. The dream he'd had suddenly reached the forefront of his lust-addled brain. _Yes, please._ He stood rooted to the spot as she quickly moved to push up his henley. Her fingers were roving over his abs and chest. If it were possible, his cock got harder.

He couldn't take the slow torture and nearly ripped the shirt off himself. Her fingers slid up to his shoulders. Just when he thought she'd lean forward to kiss him again—his eyes closing reflexively—Claire shoved him hard, pushing him backward to lay on the bed. His eyes flew open to reassess the situation. She was moving to straddle him with a lime wedge in one hand and the salt shaker in the other. _Oh, fuck._ Body shots were on her agenda.

Her knees pushed down into the mattress on either side of him, allowing her crotch to press against the front of his pants. Her lips curled into a sly smile. He deduced that she was pleased by the level of his arousal. His control was slipping fast, but he wanted to draw this out and enjoy every second. He placed his hands behind his head as she leaned forward to drop the lime wedge onto his mouth. His teeth clenched down hard on the rind while she kissed a path down from his jaw to his chest. Dear God, she was killing him. His senses inflamed, his skin felt singed by the heat in her sensual touch.

At last, her agile little tongue flicked out to stroke his left nipple. He took a sharp intake of breath that caused her to giggle. It was sexy and cute. He felt goosebumps spreading over his skin as the tiny salt crystals dropped onto the same spot where she'd licked. When her mouth returned to that spot, he practically jumped off the bed. She nipped with her teeth after removing the salt with her tongue. This time, her laugh was low and deep. She pulled up rapidly then grabbed the shot glass and swallowed the liquid in a single gulp.

Claire fell forward to take the lime wedge from his mouth with her own. Their lips touched briefly, and he fought hard not to pull her in for a deeper kiss. She hovered briefly above him as she bit down on the wedge. Sitting straight up again, she pushed her center down against him with a little wiggle. It caused him to growl—loudly—before he aggressively flipped their bodies.

Pinned beneath him now, her eyes darkened and brimmed with desire. He imagined the same was true for him. He wanted to keep playing this game and take his turn. Straddling her, his gaze swept her offered body, and she mirrored his earlier action by tucking her hands under her head. He couldn't resist running his hands down the front of her, feeling her nipples tighten under the lacy fabric as his fingers lingered on her breasts. They shuddered together in perfect unison before he moved on to the petal soft skin of her abdomen. Petals. _Dammit._ He felt blindsided by the reminder and sat up, disguising his hesitation by placing the discarded lime wedge between her lips.

It was time to think with the big head again. This was wrong. That halo effect remained in his vision. There was an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. His mind swirled with sobering questions. Was Claire truly consenting to this? Was _she_ choosing him or was it the _plant_? Even if she wanted him back, how would she view this later? How would _he_ view this night later? Yeah, it was hot, but their first time together shouldn't be under the influence of prehistoric pollen. It might then turn out to be their _only_ time, and he certainly didn't want that.

"What's wrong?" she spat out the words along with the wedge and placed her hands on his chest, branding him again. He almost jerked away. Almost.

"Nothing," he blurted. "Let me get some extra shot glasses so we don't have to re-pour." Lame excuse, he knew, but he honestly didn't know where the shot glass she used had ended up. A clattering sound had followed his swift reversal of their positions on the bed.

"I do like efficiency," she said breathily. He quickly bolted to his kitchen, a plan forming. From the cabinet, he retrieved two additional shot glasses and an Ambien tablet. He kept an old bottle of the medication for sleepless nights but had never imagined using it on a woman. A shiver went down his spine. _No,_ he told himself, _this is for the best._

Claire laid like a statue on the bed when he returned. The lime wedge was back in her mouth, and she'd taken the liberty of removing her bra. _Shit._ He'd wanted to do that, but (possibly more importantly) it was only going to make his task harder. He successfully fought the urge to stare, knowing he'd be able to do so once on top of her again. After he poured the shots and committed to memory which one contained the pill, he pounced. She let out a muffled moan, and damn if it didn't embolden him. He needed to stay focused… right after he took the opportunity to knead her breasts, sweet mounds of flesh with dusty pink tips standing at attention for him. She writhed beneath his touch and jerked her hips upwards.

With a grunt, he leaned down to lick around her belly button then reached for the salt shaker. He needed to move this along quickly or he'd lose his nerve, becoming lost in her instead. _Deep_ inside her. As if taunting him, her body spasmed with his tongue's movements. Once he'd downed the (unmedicated) shot and taken the lime from her mouth, Claire immediately pressed up against him and rolled him beneath her. He was pleasantly surprised by her power and control. It gave him a tiny ache in his chest that he was about to take that away from her. His grip tightened around the shot glass still in his hand. A reminder to keep this one as his.

She'd somehow regained possession of the wedge and shoved it between his teeth. Waggling her eyebrows, she announced, "Happy trails to me." His eyes almost bugged out of his head. How far would she go? Seemingly pleased with his reaction, she let out a tsk sound and a devilish laugh before adding, "Not yet, cowboy. Let's make this last." Was that a challenge? Did she think he couldn't last?

He temporarily removed the wedge to reassure, "Oh, baby, I can last _all_ night."

"I'm counting on it." _Fuck me_. Just then, a bright bolt of lightning lit up his window, followed by a loud crack of thunder. The storm was close, as close as he was to losing all control. It was a wonder he'd kept it together _this_ long. He idly considered if he was becoming immune to the pollen's effects.

Her hands at his waist and her tongue sliding downward from his navel pulled his attention. Understatement. It was his turn to writhe and spasm. Silently, she applied the salt and pressed her tongue flat against him. She didn't move for what seemed like an eternity before licking upwards towards his belly button. His hips bucked violently. Her mouth was too close to where his body most wanted her. A delighted grin split her face as she lifted her body away to pick up the shot glass.

This was it. He gulped and hoped that she didn't notice the tiny tablet. Fortunately, her eyes were fixed on his as she tossed it back. She licked her lips before ducking down to the lime in his mouth. Their chests smacked together, skin now slick with sweat, as she deftly bit into the lime without taking it from him. He savored the feel of her on top of him, silently praying it wouldn't be the last time. The moment was broken by another lightning strike, followed by thunder even more quickly compared to the previous one.

Claire startled at the noise, so Owen was more easily able to flip them. She gave him a self-satisfied smirk, and asked, "Where to now, tiger?" Her voice was husky without a hint of a slur. He began to worry that the sleeping pill wouldn't take effect soon enough. Pulling himself fully off her, he poured two more shots and tossed her a fresh lime wedge. At her cute giggle, he stared at her in wide wonder. Was this real? If it was, they could just continue. Take this to the finish line. Although the rational part of him couldn't tell fact from fiction, it was his aching chest (stronger even than his raging libido) that battled his brain.

Instead of getting back on top of her, he slid onto the mattress next to her and dipped his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth. She whimpered as his tongue laved. Both invested in the erotic moment, neither flinched at the next boom of thunder. His lips came off her with a loud pop before he shook the salt in the same place and licked again. She was extra salty with sweat, and his wild rush of adrenaline was surging back. The feeling must've been mutual. When he slammed back the tequila and leaned toward the wedge balanced between her lips, she let it fall and then pulled him in for a rough kiss as she climbed on top of him.

His hands clenched at his sides while her mouth dropped wet kisses down the front of him until she was tugging at the top of his pants. He seized when Claire moved to unbutton them. For better or worse, he needed to slow her down. If she put her mouth on his dick, he would give in to her completely. He didn't know whether to be happy or sad that he'd "spiked" her second shot. With his last shred of willpower, Owen yanked her body up and pinned her beneath him. She looked up at him seductively, but her eyes betrayed a slight grogginess. Or perhaps (probably only wishful thinking) it was the lifting of the plant's spell. In that moment, he desperately wanted this to mean something to them both. He needed her to truly want him back. To know this fervent passion was more than blind lust.

Unfortunately, her answering plea didn't really help clear up the mystery, "I want you balls deep in me, right _fucking_ now!" Her legs wound around his hips even as her arms curled around his neck. The way they were positioned, her sex was pressed hard to his cock. He was fully erect, aching behind his pants. She rocked against him, her nails raked into his back, and Owen's control slipped. He rocked right back, dry-humping her into his mattress. It was awkward and clumsy—his hands flying all over like a teenage boy's—but he blamed it on the pollen.

"More friction," she panted. "Owen, please." It was the first time she'd said his name all night. He didn't know what that meant, but it sounded so good to his ears. His pace eased up, and he gave her an adoring smile. That smile immediately turned into a frown when he noticed what she was doing with her hand. _Oh, hell, no._ She was not going to emasculate him by using her own fingers to get herself off while he was on top of her. Especially not when he was trying to play the gentleman… and mostly succeeding.

Hissing harshly, he grabbed both of her hands and forced them to rest above her head. She started to laugh but trailed off. Her eyelids fluttered. Owen sighed in relief despite the knot in his stomach. When he let go of her hands, and propped himself up with his arms on either side of her, she stretched out like a cat and yawned.

"Sorry," she whispered with closed eyes. "Let's pause for just a sec." The words died on her luscious lips. He stared down at her with a mix of awe and regret. Gorgeous, commanding Claire Dearing asleep in his bed. He felt guilty for putting her in that state without her knowledge. His ego was also a tad bruised from not satisfying her sexual hunger before she fell asleep. Sighing again, he reminded himself that he honestly didn't want _either_ of them to reach climax. Not tonight. Not under the fog of the pollen.

He dug a clean shirt out of a drawer and put it on before covering her body with the bedsheet and stepping away. Physical distance was needed. She was too much of a temptation. Lust still pounded through his veins. He stomped out his door and into the dark night. Standing on his deck, he breathed deeply. The air was cool on his lungs. He should've been more prepared for what happened next, but he'd been in a thick haze—beyond just what the plant had conjured. The sky opened, and rain suddenly poured down on him. The water shocked him, inside and out.

The halo slowly cleared from his vision. His heart rate slowed. His mind sharpened. The offending substance was being washed away. He looked back towards his door, and the events of the evening replayed in his head. Pleasure and pain. While his libido was now under control, the ache in his chest seemed amplified. He made the right choice. Drugging her was better than the alternative. He hoped she'd see it that way, too, and that something good remained between them in the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you think Owen handled things here? I hope I've whet your appetite for what's next 😏 Thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, readers. Without further ado, the penultimate chapter!

Claire startled awake and bolted upright with a gasp. Her heart was pounding. Her breathing shallow. She recognized the early morning sun peaking through the small window across from her. Looking around, she attempted to figure out what had happened the night before and where she was now. Her fingers tensed nervously on the worn-down couch cushions on either side of her. There was a slight buzzing in her ears, and a throbbing at her temples. As she pressed her palms to the sides of her head, she looked down. What in the hell was she wearing? Plaid boxer shorts and an oversized t-shirt? And— _oh, fuck_ —no bra? Her arms instinctively moved to wrap around her middle. Her nose picked up the residual aroma of deodorant in the shirt she was currently wearing. She recognized it as the same scent on the shirt that Owen had left in her apartment.

The realization that she was in Owen's trailer and everything that might entail crashed over her like a tidal wave. Her mind flooded with broken memories and new questions. There was flirting and kissing followed by tequila and… licking. A shudder ran through her body, but it was surprisingly not revolting. The pleasurable sensation was quickly replaced, however, by nausea and mortification that was bone deep. What had come over her yesterday? Why couldn't she piece everything together? And where the hell was Owen now?

As if on cue, Owen appeared in the doorway to her left and halted when they locked gazes. "You're up," he said with slight alarm in his tone. He looked sheepish, keeping his distance as if fearful of her. Although he was wearing boxers almost identical to the ones she had on, he was shirtless. Combined with obvious bed head and scruffier than his usual stubble, it was an incredibly sexy look. A very fine morning greeting that she was sure she'd appreciate more under different circumstances. Regardless, heat flooded through her veins. Claire's hands moved up to her shoulders to conceal her suddenly perky nipples, threatening to poke through _his_ shirt.

"How do you feel?" His voice sounded very nervous.

"Foggy," she replied as her eyes slitted with suspicion. Something wasn't right. Strike that, a _lot_ wasn't right. "Why am I on your couch?"

Clearing his throat, he began slowly, "I, uh, needed to wash my sheets." This statement caused her stomach to churn and her eyebrows to lift high up into her forehead. Had she vomited in his bed? _Oh God._ Her mind took her in another direction. How dirty had things gotten between them? She felt the blood draining from her face. Fortunately, he seemed to appreciate her distress. "I can explain," he offered with a wince. His tone was overtly fearful now.

When he moved toward her, Claire almost shouted, "Please put on a shirt." They could _not_ have this conversation in his current state of undress. The omission was either an honest mistake or a distraction tactic. She hoped it was the former. Based on his embarrassed facial expression, she doubted that he was trying to manipulate her. He ducked back into what she presumed was his bedroom then reappeared in a white t-shirt. This really was only somewhat better, as she'd been haunted by his hot body ever since he'd been in her apartment.

Before he could say anything, she blurted, "I was not myself last night."

"I know." He said it too quickly, and his facial expression was hard to read. Her hackles went up higher than before.

"You _know_?"

They engaged in a brief staring contest before he relented with sigh, "You were under the influence of… plant pheromones."

"Plant pheromones?" She wanted to kick herself for merely repeating his words, but she was too flummoxed to be anything more than a parrot.

"Yeah, the plant, the one that was on your desk when I came by. It's the same one being cultivated on the other side of _my_ lake." Lifting one arm, he pointed in that direction. Claire's mind was finally starting to process the situation. As her gears turned, he continued, "The pollen increases sex drive. I was under its influence on the night of our date." There was pain in his eyes when he stopped talking, as if to gauge her reaction. The emotion he displayed added another layer of complexity to the already overwhelming amount of information for her to digest. She looked away from him and took a deep breath. What she experienced went beyond libido overdrive. The pollen had made her wild, manic.

Her thoughts were still somewhat jumbled, but she asked the first question that came to mind, "Why didn't you tell me in my office?" She tried to keep any hint of accusation out of her tone. To remain neutral and nonjudgmental. Even as she struggled to look at him.

His tone was resigned when he answered her, "Like you would've believed me that day." Okay, that _was_ a plausible excuse. She believed him now, especially considering the text messages and photographs that she suddenly remembered sending him. Her gaze shot back to his. Anger began building within her. Owen had had ample opportunity to tell her about the plant before this moment.

"Why didn't you tell me when I showed up here yesterday?" The neutrality was gone. Her question was straight up accusatory.

It didn't seem to phase him as he scoffed, "You were pretty determined to get in my pants." She was then reminded of how similarly determined _he_ had been on their date. A date he'd wanted to repeat. That must've been why he didn't tell her about the pollen. He didn't even warn her about the shirt he'd left— _on purpose?_ —at her place. Her blood boiled with rage.

"Was this your idea of a second date?" she hissed. "A do-over with the shoe on the other foot?"

"No." His eyes went wide with shock—real or feigned, she couldn't tell—and his body recoiled slightly. "We were both affected by the plant last night," he stammered. "Knowing about it, I fought you off as best as I could." _That_ didn't feel good to hear. Insecurity and feeling undesirable pierced through the haze of anger. It slowed her roll a tad. She covered her face with her hands, searching for greater clarity. For better or worse, he remained silent.

When she put down her hands, she admitted hesitantly, "I don't remember everything." She bit her lip before asking, "Did we?"

His reply came swift and emphatic, "No, you fell asleep."

"And you didn't-"

He rolled his eyes and interrupted, looking annoyed, "I'm not into necrophilia, Claire, and I'm not that much of an asshole." At that comment, a guilty look seemed to cross his features. This time, _he_ turned away from _her_.

Claire's pulse picked up when she inquired, "What?"

Meeting her eyes, he announced flatly, "I made sure you fell asleep."

" _You_ _what?_ " Her rage returned, stronger than before. If possible, it was an unmatched vitriol.

"I put an Ambien in your tequila shot."

Standing abruptly, Claire pointed a finger at him. Her hand was shaking, but she wasn't self-conscious. She was happy she could lift her arm at all. Happy she wasn't blacking out from the horror. "You drugged me!" It was a statement. Made at the top of her lungs.

"I had to!" he shouted back. Why was he yelling at her? Why did _he_ look angry too? He had no right. This was outrageous. He could've done _anything_ to her overnight.

"Give me my clothes!" Claire's demand was only a few decibels lower than his voice. With her hand still outstretched, she wiggled her fingers, gesturing in frustration for Owen to surrender her belongings.

"Fine!" he spat, much more softly but still loud. He went back into the room where he'd retrieved his shirt and brought out a plastic bag that was tied off tightly. Passing it to her, he said in a normal volume, "I didn't wash them with my stuff. The dress said 'dry clean only,' and I have no idea how to wash a bra." Her anger cooled marginally at his thoughtfulness. But only marginally.

She clutched the plastic bag close to her body and declared, "I'll probably just throw them away."

At this, he blushed— _what?_ —and stuttered, "I... uh... didn't touch... I left your panties on, so you should probably get rid of those, too." She was now shaking with a combination of rage and embarrassment. This was too much. She squeezed her eyes shut as if to deny reality. Holding the bag in her hands, she felt her pumps inside and mentally took stock of other necessary possessions. Without opening her eyes, she asked, "The bag with my keys?" She heard him fumbling around and peaked with one eye to see him presenting her handbag. Snatching it from his grip, she gave a clipped thanks and made a hasty retreat out of the trailer, not looking back at him.

Once outside, Claire was further sobered by the muddy grass beneath her feet. Her face scrunched as she let out a groan. Driving home barefoot was not an attractive option, but the alternative (opening the plastic bag for her shoes) seemed treacherous. She'd never before done a walk of shame. This one seemed much worse than any described by her girlfriends or as seen on TV. She cringed at the thought of anyone witnessing her current state.

Climbing into her car, she started the engine and glanced at the clock. It was 6:30am. She sighed in relief. The park wasn't open, and most employees would still be asleep. There was time to get home without being seen… then scrub down her apartment and light her plant on fire. She practically peeled out of Owen's lot as she pulled away from the bungalow. It was a shame that she couldn't turn off her brain as she drove. Her vitriol had subsided but the humiliation remained magnified. There was something else she needed to do, sooner rather than later.

She came to a stop sign at a fork in the otherwise deserted road and pulled her phone out of her bag. Opening her message string with Owen, her stomach lurched at the photographs. She'd thrown herself at him, and—if he was to be believed—he'd rejected her… repeatedly. Claire wasn't sure which was the worse option: his being embarrassed _for_ her or his taking advantage of her? _Ugh_ , she was fucked up. She needed to forget this ever happened. Messaging him now would be a start.

**Please delete these messages and pictures,** she wrote. Her thumbs tapped nervously on the sides of the phone as she considered whether to say anything else. A question popped into her mind that, likely, neither of them could answer right now. Had Owen _only_ wanted her because of the plant? She wasn't sure if she wanted that question answered. Or worse, if maybe his actions (or lack thereof) had already given her the answer.

A loud unexpected honk from behind her caused Claire to jump in her seat… and drop her phone. In her rearview mirror, she saw an ACU trooper in a security vehicle. _Dammit,_ so much for not being seen. She gave a weak wave and started her car down the road again.

x x x

It had been over a week since Claire left Owen's bungalow, but he was still smarting from the speed with which she'd 'escaped.' That was, most definitely, her intention. She couldn't get away fast enough! Her subsequent behavior only confirmed this. He'd _never_ had a woman treat him like that before. By contrast, there were some women he couldn't get to _stop_ trying to come back for more. Just as certain as he was that he didn't want _those_ women, he was certain that he still wanted Claire. Too bad he'd completely blown it with her.

After she'd asked him to delete their messages—which he did, with great reluctance—she didn't contact him again. She clearly wanted nothing to do with him. So, he'd been doing his best to avoid her. Not that their paths typically crossed very often. Just to be safe, however, he'd been minimizing any time that he spent in the park and kept his eyes down. He cringed at how awkward it would be to bump into each other in a public place yet resisted the urge to reach out to her privately. Truth be told, he was being a coward. The worst case scenario, to discover that she was only interested in him because of the pollen, scared him. That would be too great an insult to his ego. _Right_ , it was only about his ego… and maybe that throbbing organ in his pants. But it had absolutely nothing to do with why that stupid organ in his chest was still aching.

He figured that it was time to move on (or, at least, get drunk), so he'd accepted Barry's invitation to join him and a few ACU at SUNRIO after work. While their conversation initially entailed venting about the stressors of the week, it turned more personal after a few beers.

"So, Grady," Rick Spears smirked, "I've been meaning to congratulate you on hitting it and quitting it with Claire Dearing." Owen almost spat out the liquid in his mouth. He gave a sideways glance to Barry, who shook his head lightly. No, his friend hadn't spilled the beans. Before either of them could redirect the conversation, Pete Cooper swung his head around from the blonde who he'd been trying to pick up at the bar.

The trooper's face contorted into one of exaggerated shock as he slapped Owen on the shoulder and proclaimed, "You dirty _dog_!"

"More like 'dirty little secret,'" Rick supplied, chuckling at Owen's expense. "I can't believe she thought she was being discreet, driving that Benz of hers away from your bungalow at six in the morning." Pete let out a low whistle while Owen seethed. There wasn't an ideal response to their prodding. He could either make himself look bad or pin it on Claire. Neither option was appealing.

After clearing his throat to buy time for a tactful reply, Owen appeased them with "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell." To further diffuse the situation, he forced a cocky half-smile and winked. Internally, he winced and prayed for them to drop it.

Pete's eyes suddenly lit up with annoyance as he groaned, "Speaking of Dearing, that buzzkill destroyed all of Love Potion #9."

"No way!" Rick shot back. The two troopers paid no attention to Barry or Owen, who both remained silent. Barry looked at his friend sympathetically while Owen feigned disinterest in the conversation. "I heard the senior botanist gave her one of the plants."

" _That_ social retard?" Pete answered dismissively. "It's probably the only way he could get a woman." Owen didn't personally know the employee in question, but that thought had crossed his mind when he'd seen the plant in her office.

"Did she keep the plant for 'personal use'?" Rick asked with a laugh.

"Maybe, but I don't think she needs it." The troopers shared a knowing grin before Pete turned to Owen, "Am I right, Grady?" At Owen's soft growl, Pete chuckled and said, "Only worth tapping once… or is that just how she felt about you?"

Owen suppressed the urge to deck the guy or walk out of the bar. He didn't want to make a scene and raise further suspicion. This was just _great_. His reputation with women, as a whole, had now been compromised by that damn plant. Thankfully, Barry had his back.

"What do you mean by 'destroyed'?" the Frenchman inquired plainly.

Pete lowered his voice when he spoke, "She had the entire crop uprooted and incinerated." He paused to scan the bar, then pulled himself closer to them when he added, "It's speculated that someone used it on her."

"Did she fire the senior botanist?" Barry's voice dropped to match the trooper's.

"Nope, just reprimanded."

Owen couldn't stop himself from defending her, "You don't know that someone used it on her. She probably just heard about it and was acting in the best interests of the park. That is her _job_ after all." He was livid on the inside but tried to maintain a cool exterior. The troopers weren't buying his argument and sniggered at him as they sipped their beers. Owen could only imagine what they were thinking about him… and her. When Pete didn't answer him, Owen's mind went in a different direction. A worrisome one. The muscles in his body pulled tight. He tried not to stammer, "Was she spotted out with anyone? Acting under the spell of a love potion?"

Pete laughed loudly then replied, "Jealous? Did she cut you off?" He and Rick did a fist bump over Pete's cleverness, and Owen just rolled his eyes. "Hey, man," Pete added in a sympathetic tone, "I haven't heard anything about her whoring around." Even though he still wanted to punch Pete for talking about Claire that way, this information made Owen feel _somewhat_ better.

Rick didn't miss Owen's posture relaxing and butted in, "You gonna try to tap it again?"

"Rick, I think that brunette is checking you out," interrupted Barry, pointing across the bar. "Why don't _you_ tap that?" Both troopers looked in that direction and were clearly more interested in the woman than Owen's emotional state. Shaking his head, Owen mouthed a silent thanks to his friend. It didn't take long for Rick and Pete to fully abandon the raptor trainers. Once alone, Barry turned to Owen and asked seriously, "Are you… gonna try again?"

"I don't know what was real," was Owen's honest answer. It was hard to admit that even Claire's behavior on their date couldn't be trusted. She _had_ responded to him, but at least a portion of that might've been due to her proximity to his pollen-covered clothing. Furthermore, his own recollection of that night might not be in line with reality.

"You've got it bad, _mon ami_ ," Barry sighed. "If I were you, I wouldn't be wallowing here when I could actually go after the truth." Finishing his beer, he walked out of the bar and left Owen alone with his jumbled thoughts. For the time being, Owen decided that it was safer to remain in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the angst. I decided to draw out the torment for Clawen and readers (more drama makes my planned ending even better). Who do you think will cave first?
> 
> Unending thanks to akaJB for her advice and editing this story. Please check out her stories if you haven't already 😁


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As is usual for me, I'm struggling to let these characters go. I decided to break the last part into a chapter and an epilogue. I hope no one minds 😏

In the two weeks since she'd had the offending plants destroyed, Claire had thought about Owen almost nonstop. She judged herself harshly for it, too. What the hell was wrong with her? For the first few days after leaving his place and torching her own plant, she'd thought it was the after effects of the pollen. Too much time had passed now, however, for that to be a reasonable excuse. It was painfully clear to her that she wanted him regardless of plant pheromones. But what, exactly, _did_ she want from him? Sex, was that all? She avoided answering that question by focusing on another. What did _he_ want from _her_? It was time she got an answer to that one. Well past time.

In addition to needing answers from him, she needed to do something that she wasn't accustomed to doing very often. Apologize. Her jaw clenched reflexively at the thought. She had to admit that she'd been wrong. That her anger with him that morning had been out of proportion to the situation. Whatever his ultimate intentions were toward her—he _had_ wanted a second date—his behavior that night was admirable. Chivalrous in a fucked up way. She shuddered at the thought, but the discomfort was her own. It was the embarrassment over _her_ subsequent behavior.

As she drove out to his bungalow, she kept herself distracted by thinking about his lack of response to her text about the photographs. Had he actually deleted them as she'd asked? Why hadn't he confirmed? Or said anything at all? _Dammit_. Now, she was getting angry. Her foot pressed harder on the gas pedal. She was going so fast that her body jerked forward against her seat belt when she slammed on the brakes and came to an abrupt stop beside his trailer.

Her heart caught in her throat at the sudden fear that he wasn't home. She hadn't given him a head's up. It had been an impulse decision after not wanting to go to her apartment after work that day. She winced at the automatic thought of another option. A worse one. What if he wasn't alone? That thought reinvigorated her anger. She didn't drive all the way out there to discover that he was with another woman. She wanted to discover him pining for her. Yeah, she might have a problem.

When she stepped out of her Benz, Claire couldn't help slamming the car door. Moments later, Owen burst through his screen door, stomping onto his deck and demanding, "What the hell?" His eyes were alight with anger as he turned towards her from the top of his steps. She took a sharp intake of breath, and her posture stiffened. His anger dissolved, morphing into something else, when they locked gazes. Something akin to remorse or embarrassment. _Oh God._ What did that mean? She bit her lip, trying not to show any emotion, and remained fixed in her spot.

His eyes stayed on hers as he descended the steps and approached her. Although he was dressed casually in a t-shirt and board shorts, there was nothing relaxed about his movements. He strode with purpose. There was no apparent hesitation or looking back. No one inside to consider? It felt like he was prepared for this moment. Ready and waiting for it, even. Claire's heart started to thud in her chest. He stopped when he was only a few feet in front of her. She tried to match the confidence in his stance. There was a momentary silence before she looked away. Her stomach had dropped. She couldn't fake it anymore.

Her gaze landed on a large metal object on the ground behind him. Pointing, she asked with judgment in her tone, "Is that a buoy?" He looked quizzically back at her but didn't turn his head. Her brows knitted together as her eyes scanned the rest of his property. His lot was littered with junk. A disorganized collection of fishing poles, golf clubs, and various other objects that she couldn't immediately identify. She hadn't remembered it being like this. When she'd come there to seduce him under the influence of the sex pollen, his property seemed inviting. Alluring. _Damn._ The pollen's effects had been more powerful than she realized.

"Claire," his voice pulled her from her errant thoughts. His teeth were almost gritted when she turned back to look at him. What was _that_ for? Her lips pursed, and he let out of sigh before relenting, "Let's sit down."

"Where?" Her voice still held that dismissive edge. She lifted her palms as if weighing the various options around them only to announce with disdain, "There are so many places to sit around here." He silently shook his head and moved toward the bench nearest to his trailer door. She huffed but followed him, shaking her head at the candles on the makeshift surfboard table and the string of lights adorning the awning above them. Okay, she admitted to herself, this was a _little_ romantic. Maybe the pollen hadn't completely misled her.

Once they were seated next to each other—a little too close for Claire's comfort—Owen asked in a resigned tone, "Why are you really here? Surely, it's not _just_ to insult my place?" Her heart was beating fast, and she could feel beads of sweat forming on her forehead. She wanted to chalk it up to the Costa Rican heat, but she knew better. Aside from her nerves, she was acutely aware of how his presence affected her. She'd felt it on their date. Like electricity crackling between them or flint sparking before igniting a flame.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, "for everything. Coming here unannounced… both times. Leaving so abruptly that morning." She was rambling but couldn't stop herself. She needed to get it out lest she lose her nerve. Say nothing of the goosebumps forming all over her skin at his proximity. "I didn't trust myself. I didn't know how to feel."

"About what?" Owen asked with a single eyebrow raised. She couldn't read his expression. His body was still. His breathing steady. Her breathing, on the other hand, was starting to heave. She swallowed hard. It might've been easier to communicate her desires with the pollen providing courage, but Claire never backed down from something she wanted. Looking into his gorgeous eyes, she wondered if she'd ever wanted anything more than she wanted him. _That_ was a tad bit crazy.

She shook her head lightly and answered, "You." A single word from her had never had such a devastating effect on someone. The confidence in his eyes and posture seemed to vanish. He looked away, so she reached out for the hand that was resting on his thigh. The rush of heat she'd felt at his touch on their date—hell, whenever they touched—raged back. It was still there, even without the pollen, and made her whole body tingle.

His head snapped to hers. He must've felt it, too. "Owen." Her voice was truly confident now. Her tone assured. "The plant didn't make me do anything I wasn't already willing to do. I didn't send photos like that to anybody else. I wasn't throwing myself at everyone. It was just you." There was something different in his eyes now. Different from the raw lust she remembered during their previous encounters. It was something deeper and caused her breath to hitch. It seemed to answer her unspoken question, but she needed confirmation and verbalized it anyway, "Was it the same for you?"

"Yes," he said softly as he threaded their fingers together. "But…" Claire seized with fear and tried to yank her hand away, but he squeezed it tighter. "I'm sorry, too. The pollen made me forget how to treat you. I was disrespectful, and you deserve better."

"I want you." Her words came out fast, and her body quickly followed through. Her free hand flew to his chest, fisted into the fabric of his shirt, and tugged him towards her. For the first time in weeks, she shut off her brain. It was now or never. Time to take a chance and go for it. Who needed plant pheromones? While she was closing her eyes, Owen's mouth dipped to capture hers, bridging the final inches between them with his own push.

Their lips met in a kiss that was unlike all their previous ones. The surge of heat was so intense that Claire was surprised when their hair didn't catch on fire. The level of her arousal flew off the charts. Her breath quickened. Her skin seemed more sensitive. Her entire body reacted as she turned towards him. Her hands moved to his shoulders, pulling him closer. One of his hands snaked around her waist while the other went to the back of her head, holding her in place.

While ferocious, the kiss wasn't rough or dominating. It was downright tender. His eagerness echoed her own, but there was a sweetness. Like he wasn't just kissing her. It was as if he was making a memory. Savoring each beat, tasting her like a fine wine. She responded in kind, reveling in the softness of his lips, each stroke of his tongue, and the strength of his hands. Twining her arms around his neck, Claire dragged her nails across his scalp and felt a shudder run down his body as he pressed himself against her.

He pulled away suddenly with a groan and almost growled, "Let's move this inside." She was panting as she nodded her consent. When they stood, their bodies remained locked together, both of them seemingly unwilling to break their connection. Instead of moving towards his home, Owen stroked her cheek and said softly, "This is better than my dreams." Her eyes almost popped out of her head, and he chuckled as if reading her mind. "You too?"

Blushing, she admitted, "That's where the body shots idea came from."

"Ah," he smirked. She raised her eyebrows, urging him to share in kind. He cleared his throat and posed a question, "Remember my comment on our date about the 'wild jungle sex'?"

"Kind of hard to forget."

"Well, you… uh… had me tied up with vines and did this thing with–"

"Are you into that sort of thing?" She stepped back slightly to look him in the eye and was using her judgy voice again. "Bondage?"

"No," he answered quickly

She shrugged, "Pity." Taking his hand, she started towards the trailer door.

"Wait, so, _you're_ into that?" His voice was adorably surprised.

Claire smiled to herself. She'd honestly been joking but mused that she might consider a lot of things outside of her comfort zone with Owen. As they walked through the trailer to his bedroom, she wondered aloud in a teasing tone, "I'm not sure where we left off last time."

"Consider last time the appetizer," he declared proudly once they reached the foot of his bed. "We didn't even make it to the main course." He stood behind her, swept her hair to one side, and rested his hands on her hips before dropping kisses on her exposed neck. Her senses seemed hyper-tuned, and she could feel everything more. Her knees almost buckled at the eroticism of it all.

Through hooded lids, she answered with a whimper then reminded him, "You called it 'dessert' on our date."

"Oh no, Claire, I was so wrong. Sex with _you_ is always going to be the main course." She stilled at his unexpectedly poignant statement. Her stomach did a little flip. When she turned around to face him, that deeper-than-lust look was back in his eyes. As he lowered his mouth to hers, she finally recognized it because she felt it too: longing.

She didn't have time to ponder it further. While his mouth explored hers again, he lifted her up—as if she weighed nothing—and her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. She could feel his erection through his shorts and rocked her hips against his. She was dizzy with desire and couldn't remember _ever_ having been this turned on before. That is, until he continued his seduction. One of his hands ran up her thigh under her skirt. His fingers climbed higher until Owen let out a moan and pulled his lips away. He'd discovered something… or lack thereof.

He grinned at her lasciviously and remarked in a playful tone, "I think you forgot something."

"You told me to get rid of them," she answered. Her voice was husky and sensual. He practically roared with apparent satisfaction when he dropped her onto the mattress. Tenderness fully gave way to a frenzy of shared need. Their hands grabbed at each other's clothes, and within seconds they were both naked. Pulled into him, she gasped at the feel of his chest hair rubbing against her already tightened nipples and his long, hard cock pressing against her stomach. Another jolt of awareness shot through her.

He shifted their bodies until they were lying side-by-side, their legs entwining. His fingers trailed over her shoulder while her hand grazed the curve of his ass. It was similar to the position they'd been in during the last round of body shots. Her skin seemed to sizzle at the memory of his mouth on her breast. From his pause, she wondered if he was remembering it, too. When his lips captured her nipple this time, she wondered no more. In fact, she couldn't think at all. His mouth sucked, and his hand moved between her thighs.

The sensations overwhelmed her. Her nose keyed into that delicious scent she knew from his clothing. Only this time, she felt bathed in it. Incomprehensibly, she still couldn't get enough of him. She wanted everything he had to offer and more. As his tongue laved and his fingers dipped inside her, she cried out for more. His thumb worked her clit, giving just the right pressure. Stroking her to the core and causing her to squirm. She kneaded her fingers into the flesh of his ass, grasping firmly so as not to fall flat on her back. Her squeezing action forced a low grunt from him. Soon after, her breath started coming out in sharp pants, and a soft, almost startled sound of pleasure bubbled up in her throat.

"I enjoyed those body shots so much," he managed to say. His voice wasn't just rough. It had gone straight guttural. "You are so hot." It was her turn to growl. She strained against him, enjoying every second. Feeling more present in the moment than she had the last time they were together. More in touch with reality. While the pollen had made everything seem great before, it hadn't been as good she felt now. Dazed but not confused. Senses heightened. She wanted to draw it out before she floated away. Once more, they seemed to be on the same wavelength.

He removed his hand and lifted his head to announce, "I want to feel you coming around me… the first time." Waggling his eyebrows suggestively, he added, "I can go all night." He kissed her quickly before hopping off the bed and giving her one awe-inspiring view of his muscled back and toned ass.

Her drooling left her blind-sided when he returned and dropped a handful of condoms on the nightstand. The guy was ambitious all right. Judging by the speed with which he sheathed his very impressive manhood, she believed in his bravado. 'All night' challenge accepted. Her lust-addled brain raced with thoughts of what they could do and how to prioritize them. She felt emboldened. Sitting up on her knees, she placed her hands on his chest.

Before he could pounce, she requested, "I want to be on top… the first time." He didn't answer with words. Seconds later, they'd rolled over, and he'd pulled her on top of him. She settled her knees on either side of his hips and took him confidently in hand to hold him in position. Teasing them both, she let the blunt head of his cock rub against her outer folds, and they twitched together. His hands gripped her hips, urging her to end the torture by moving her body slightly forward. Her head fell back in ecstasy, her throat arching, as she moaned and lowered herself onto him.

Owen let her take control, keeping relatively still until he was fully seated inside her. Once Claire started to move, however, he thrust his hips upwards to drive himself deeper. Her lips parted, and a strangled curse escaped from them. Her eyes had fluttered closed when he leaned up to take one of her nipples into his mouth. Just as before, he skillfully used his mouth and hand simultaneously, sucking one nipple hard while his fingers plucked the other. It nearly brought her to the brink. He groaned when she tightened around him in response. As he fell back against the pillow, she was wrenched slightly forward and had to brace her hands on his shoulders.

"Hell, yes," she murmured as she rode him, digging her nails into his skin. He rocked his hips to meet the rise and fall of her own. His hands rested on her thighs until he angled one to stroke her clit. He circled it once, twice, and then she stiffened before letting go. The pleasure crashed over her, and her walls clamped around his cock as she erupted. While she choked out his name, he held onto her so tightly that she felt like he was sealing her to him. The whole world spun. Shortly thereafter, he followed her into the abyss, roaring _her_ name as he came.

Collapsing onto his chest, she felt his strong arms wrap around her. Cradling her in a protective embrace. It was warm and wonderful and felt so very right. His heartbeat and breathing slowed against her cheek. Her lips curled into a contented smile, and his hum in response seemed to echo her sentiment. They further melded together. To her shock and delight, she could feel him already hardening inside her.

"Is that what I think it is?" she wondered aloud without pulling away from him.

"What did I tell you?" he chuckled. " _All_ night." Suddenly worried, she lifted her body off his to look him in the eye, searching for a sign. "What's wrong, Claire?" The playfulness was gone. He seemed worried now, too, and sat up to face her.

She bit her lip before asking, "Are you… still affected by the pollen?"

He blinked rapidly and stammered, "W-w-why? Because I'm so turned on?" He was looking at her as if she'd grown a second head. Was her question _that_ outrageous? After all, she hadn't done much to stimulate him. By contrast, he'd lavished attention all over her body. Been laser-focused on her pleasure like no other lover had been before, and she'd simply lapped it up. _Oh no._ She paled at an alternate thought. This was just his norm. His technique. His pattern. There was nothing special about what they shared.

She couldn't meet his gaze when she said, "I'm sure that's what you always say."

"No," he answered softly, cupping her cheek and turning her face back towards him. "This is all _you_." Her lips parted as if automatically, and she leaned in to kiss him again. While her tongue tangled with his, she could sense him removing the spent condom and reaching for another. When he started to pull out of the kiss—presumably to put it on—she held him in place with one hand at the nape of his neck and wrapped her other hand around his thickening shaft. He'd had his chance to stroke her. Why shouldn't she take this opportunity? Especially when she'd been so mad with need earlier that she couldn't think to return the favor.

His tongue went slack in her mouth while she pumped him slowly but firmly. He'd called _her_ hot, but so was he. All the more obviously without the haze of the pollen clouding her view. Watching and feeling him respond to her touch exhilarated her. It was an awesome thrill. If possible, her desire spiked to a higher level. At his faltering breaths, she kissed her way along his jawline and down to his neck. His blood rushed beneath her lips as she pressed them to his pulse point. When the bead of pre-cum formed on the tip of his cock, she spread it around with her thumb very delicately. The action elicited a harsh growl from his chest, and he reached down to grab her wrist.

"Enough," his tone was almost pleading. "It's my turn to be on top, and I'm going to fuck you hard." _Yes, please._ She unconsciously licked her lips while he opened the condom wrapper and 'suited up.' A fresh wave of heady lust swept through her body. She wanted wild and uncontrolled this time. When he turned toward her again, she saw that lust reflected back at her. He'd never looked sexier, which in his case was saying something. The next thing she knew, he pinned her beneath him and pounded into her with one piercing slide that filled her completely. Her whole body trembled. She might've screamed his name.

Caging her with his arms, Owen trailed his hot, open mouth down her neck, making her quiver and, all the while, maintaining a manic pace to his thrusts. The bed shook beneath them, and he knew exactly how to move every single inch of his body. Exactly how to please her. She did her best to keep up. There was no holding back by either of them. He sank deep then withdrew, again and again. Her breath sawed in and out as her hips lifted eagerly toward him and her nails raked his back.

His lips returned to hers and muffled both of their moaning. The kiss tasted salty from her sweat, and the reminder of the body shots coaxed her movements towards a more frantic pace. She jerked her hips and pulled his body closer to her, reveling in his weight on her and their skin-to-skin contact. They notched together in a seemingly perfect fit. The heat between them now was drenching.

He rasped something unintelligible then lifted his mouth and panted out, "God, you feel good. Need to make you come. So sexy when you come." Her eyes rolled into the back of her head when his thumb connected with her clit. She arched against him, drowning in a flood of wanting. It didn't take long before her climax overtook her. Her inner muscles contracted around him, and she came on an explosion of release that was beyond description. Beyond compare. Owen was right there with her. His mouth crashed into hers, and she held him tightly as his body pulsed.

After he stilled, he rolled to her side and pulled her close. His chest vibrated with a rough rumble of laughter. "Jesus, Claire," he said breathlessly. "I've never come so hard in my life. I thought I was going to pass out." He nuzzled his nose against her hair and sighed. "I still might."

"What happened to 'all night'?" she teased. In truth, she felt utterly wrung out, but there was more to it than sexual satisfaction. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt such an all-encompassing peace. It was the polar opposite of the unsettled feelings she'd had after the pollen wore off. Even while under the plant's spell, it had been more of an out-of-body experience than a blissful one.

He inhaled deeply before responding, "Cuddling is included in the package." Then, he shifted just enough so that he could stare into her eyes and smile down at her. At the sight of that smile—that obvious contentment and pure joy—she felt something stir inside her, a sensation like she was free-falling from a cliff but didn't care where she landed. It was truly euphoric. "You okay with that?" he added after pecking her lips.

Her answering nod was broken by a yawn as she snuggled closer to him, "Absolutely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are _you_ drenched in the heat, too? Now, I'll get back to perfecting the epilogue. Once this story is done, I plan to throw myself completely into writing _The Missing Years_ with akaJB, so please catch up with it... or re-read it 😊


	6. Epilogue

As he walked out of the conference room, Owen was dying to find Claire. He didn't often come to the administrative building on the island, but today had been the occasion for his once every blue moon meeting with InGen higher-ups. The uptight, skittish ones who refused to visit the raptor paddock itself. Now that it was finished, he wanted out of his monkey suit and into... well, _Claire_. He loosened his tie as he strode with confidence down the hallway toward her office. The same confidence he'd steeled himself with when she'd shown up at his place two nights ago. Both now and then, it was somewhat put on to cover his nerves. Worry that she'd run away or that he'd scare her off. His nerves might even be a little worse in the present moment because he now knew what sex with her was like. How good they were together. How they felt together.

Too bad he still wasn't exactly sure where she stood. The uncertainty about her intentions toward him was currently more vexing than it had been before they'd slept together. Although they had discussed his paying a visit to her office before she'd left his place, they hadn't exchanged any texts or phone calls since then. He hadn't wanted to appear desperate or clingy, so he'd decided to play it cool. No pressure on either of them. Instead, he'd clung to the elation that he'd felt at her encouraging him to stop by after his meeting today.

"Mr. Grady?" an unfamiliar voice called out to him. It was an entire continent away from the voice he _wanted_ to hear. He turned to greet the dark-haired woman with the British accent. She was carrying a large manila envelope and passed it to him as she said, "Ms. Dearing went home early—not feeling well—but she wanted me to give you this." The relatively weighty envelope was stamped with the word 'confidential' in red letters. _What the hell?_ He muttered his thanks as the woman walked away, seemingly absorbed in her smartphone and no longer paying him any attention. Was this some sort of kiss-off?

While he searched for a private alcove to open his envelope, Owen's mind drifted back to Claire's relatively discreet departure from his bungalow, just before dawn. Under the cover of darkness. Concealing her less than discreet, though very sexy, just-fucked look. While that had been a glorious and gratifying moment for him, perhaps he was only worth tapping once, as Pete had suggested at the bar. Had she cut him off, casually tossed him aside like a used napkin? Were they 'one and done'? Oh, _hell no_. It was the furthest thing imaginable for him. He wanted her more than ever. Maybe he'd said something that night to turn her off. He groaned at his line about sex with her being the 'main course.' Was that as cheesy as some of the lines he'd used on her when he was under the spell of the pollen? While he couldn't blame the plant for putting lecherous thoughts into his head, he'd hoped to blame it for how he spoke to her. Yup, she probably thought it was just about sex for him.

But, _dear God_ , the sex. It had been fucking incredible, lights out, mind-blowing—pick your favorite phrase or adjective for 'amazing.' They got better with every round, and he'd lost count of the number of orgasms. The way she moved with him was so smooth and silky. It was like a dance, the hottest, most sensual dance he'd ever experienced. To top it all of, the way she looked at him during sex was different from how she'd looked at him during the body shots. Her gaze was blazing to the point of soul-piercing. So beautiful and true. The pleasure from it all had consumed him. There was nothing casual about what they shared. Nor were his feelings for her. Feelings that he didn't want to examine too much in the wake of her apparent avoidance of him. It stung all the more.

Then again, he could've contacted her. She likely now had the wrong impression about _his_ intentions towards _her_. _Dammit_. He pounded a fist against an exit door and ducked into the deserted stairwell to open his envelope. An envelope he promptly almost dropped—along with his jaw—when he realized its contents. Sandwiched between blank pages of paper was a pair of underwear. His eyes flared, and he loosened his tie even more. Maybe 'discretion' was Claire's strong suit, after all. Scrubbing a hand over his face while processing his shock (and relief), he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. His eyes widened further at a text from Claire: **After work, I put on something more comfortable.** There was an accompanying selfie of her topless, covering her breasts with one arm, and showing off the waistband of a familiar pair of plaid boxers. _Holy hell._ She kept them?

Owen started to sweat as his mind raced. Had someone dosed her with leftover pollen, seeking 'revenge,' trying to take advantage of her, or both? Surely, she'd at least _washed_ those boxers to minimize the risk of recontamination. Regardless, he needed to get to her place fast. He cursed his suit for forcing him to have driven a car rather than his motorcycle. By the time he made it to her apartment building, he had no patience for the elevator and was flying up the stairs, taking them two at a time, despite his suit. He was sweating and not just from the exertion.

When Owen popped out onto her floor, a man in a polo shirt and khakis was smiling and walking out her door. The man was waving inside and saying something that Owen couldn't quite make out. _Motherfucker_. He barreled down the hall, almost knocking the other man down, and caught her door before it shut.

"What the fuck?" Owen exclaimed as he burst through the door, slamming it against the wall with almost enough force to knock it off its hinges. Claire gasped as she jumped and turned around to face him. When they locked gazes, his anger instantly cooled. She looked absolutely gorgeous in a curve-hugging green dress and heels. A vision from his pollen-induced, wet dream: Poison Ivy, in the flesh. In his periphery, he could see that her kitchen table was laid out with a spread of food, red wine, and candles. His head turned to the bag labeled "Winston's" that sat on the kitchen island, and he remembered Claire sitting shirtless on that same countertop the last time he'd been there. He quickly shook off the memory and asked sheepishly, "What's all this?"

"I thought you wanted a second date," she answered in a cautious tone, pausing to look him over. "You dressed better this time." He wanted to make a comment about her being dressed _at all_ but bit it back. Honestly, he wasn't sure which he would've preferred. Mouthing the word 'sorry,' he winced and gently closed her front door, silently berating himself for his over-the-top anger. He was also getting pretty excited about where the night was headed. While he felt ready to jump out of his skin, part of that was due to a return of his nerves. What was _that_ about? _She_ looked a little nervous, too. As she walked toward him, Owen noticed a slight shake in her hands. She stilled them by clasping them together in front of her.

Once she was within his reach, he tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear and grazed her cheek with his fingers. Stronger even than before, his skin reacted to their contact. He marveled at how his body could flood and pulse with yearning after such a simple touch. It was equal parts thrilling and frightening.

She struggled to meet his eyes when she finally said, "Thanks for coming." He wondered if she was embarrassed to have lured him there the way she did. Even Claire Dearing sometimes relied on 'keyboard courage' to get what she wanted.

"I would've shown up with any type of invitation," he admitted. He needed her to know that it wasn't (just) about the sexting and panties.

"It was more fun this way." She flashed him a devious grin before moistening her lips and pulling up to kiss him. The kiss was sensual and tender. When he parted his lips for her, her tongue swept into his mouth to lick and seduce. Stroke and claim. He could taste red wine on her lips and tongue. She'd started without him. Her apparent nervousness was adorably endearing. As they kissed, he could swear that he felt a little drunk—not from the remnants of wine but from her. From the way she made him feel. His body seemed to engulf hers as his arousal went from zero to a hundred instantaneously. There was a drowning buzz in his ears that made everything else around him disappear. She melted into him with little sounds of delight as his tongue delved and circled deeper and deeper into her mouth.

Although he was kissing her back with a feverish intensity, it was unhurried. He appreciated every stroke and every response. Taking it slowly was intoxicating. Much more so than the unnatural stupor induced by the pollen. The plant drove them to be sloppy, clumsy and rushed. While it may have helped get them to their current position, he didn't want or need its effects. Owen still went molten for her, but he recognized the accompanying longing. It wasn't merely a desire for physical intimacy. He hoped that was mutual, and his chest ached with sudden fear.

"Claire," he said breathlessly, pulling back his mouth but not his arms, "you know I don't just want you for the sex, right?"

"Of course," she smirked. "What you did… to stop me... us, when we were both affected by the pollen, showed me that, and..." Her voice trailed off as a faint blush spread across her cheeks. She stared into his eyes to finish, "That was sexier than anything to me. It's how I knew that I didn't just want you for the sex."

Her words made him feel lightheaded with a deep satisfaction. He covered by teasing, "Anything?"

"Well, to _that_ point in time." She bit her lip and lightly rubbed her body against his. "The little hip swirl you do at the end of your thrusts? That _might_ just top it."

He took the opportunity to squeeze her ass and remarked, "My dreams predicted some of _your_ moves, but they were even sexier live and in color."

"You know..." She paused to briefly nip at his bottom lip. "You bragged about 'all night' both with and without the pollen." She continued pressing herself seductively against him, and it was driving him crazy. He licked then bit her earlobe. Who needed sex pollen? Their inhibitions were shredded without it.

"I guess I am a _little bit_ of an asshole, regardless."

She laughed and quirked a single eyebrow, "Did you delete the photos like I asked?"

After letting out a dramatic sigh, he replied, "Yes, but the images are burned into my retinas."

"They _were_ for your eyes only."

"Good, but I'm also an asshole for enjoying what the plant did to you. I was thinking about you and those photos before you showed up at my place last time." Both of her eyebrows shot up at his words. "Why do you think I was so ready to go?" Her mouth opened in shock, but he didn't know if she truly got his meaning. It was his turn to laugh. "Yes, I was jerking off to you."

She pulled him forward and captured his lips with hers. It was a rough and hungry kiss. She tugged his lips with her teeth as she pulled away then revealed, "I liked the plant's effects, too. What it did to both of us. No overthinking. Just relax and relinquish some control." Her voice was husky, but her eyes betrayed something else. Something he'd noticed when she'd been criticizing his property. Her own insecurities laid bare.

He dropped his forehead against hers when he reassured, "It's not required. The latest picture was the best one yet." Her resultant smile was luminous.

"You can keep that one," she said, eyes twinkling.

Pinching her ass and making her jump, he asked, "What about the underwear?"

"That's yours, too. Makes us even."

"I hope you don't expect me to _wear_ them."

"You discovered my secret kink," she replied with a wink. His eyes bugged out in surprise. Was she serious? Did he really care? In that moment, no. When he refocused on her, she was smirking. It was a real turn-on how she could keep him on his toes. "Let's sit down, Owen, or dinner will get cold."

His gaze briefly moved to the table and then back to her. The insecurity in her eyes had vanished. It had been replaced by something just as compelling as the fierce lust he'd seen in them at his home. She was communicating her intent. It was clearly not just about sex. Dinner was important to her. When he moved to sit, it wasn't only out of respect for her and what she'd planned, it was because they wanted the same thing. Something real, something more.

Sitting down, he felt himself relaxing and joked, "If I'd known this was a date, I'd have brought you flowers."

"How about, you _never_ have to bring me flowers?" She shuddered, but soon after they were both laughing. It was genuine and warm. Sexier than anything? Just maybe.

"Deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Zivit for this story prompt and akaJB's support and editing throughout the process. I really enjoyed writing this version of events and Clawen. I hope the epilogue left readers feeling satisfied.
> 
> If there's anything you might like to read from me in future (or any ideas for The Missing Years), please reach out here or on Twitter (@SetPhysician).


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